


Footsteps

by Townycod13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing like having someone's footsteps memorized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footsteps

There is nothing like having someone’s footsteps memorized.

That tingle of fear that occurs only when it is heard and that _absolute_ urgency to get up, _get up_ , because if you don’t…

It’s not an odd day, or a special one. He’s in pain, curled in on himself and terrified to move. Recently, it’s always recently, recently fades together with always awfully well, he had to work all night. He hadn’t had time for his homework.

He’d received an interesting reward for that. It was always the kicking that got to him. First he’d get scared enough to run and running would start it all, if you ran you were _asking for it_. So he ran and was promptly kicked to the floor.

And the kicking just didn’t stop.

When he woke up he was in the small space again and he _hated_ the small space, he would do anything to get out, it was _maddening_ , he couldn’t _breathe_ in the small space, he couldn’t think rationally at all, there was just no _room_.

So recently it had happened so he was curled up in the living room. He knew he was supposed to be cleaning. You were always supposed to be cleaning or working. If you were caught doing anything else…

He hadn’t enjoyed the last time he’d got caught doing his homework.

He wasn’t cleaning, he was just curled up, he wanted the pain to go away for a moment, the panic to _cease_ and then he heard those footsteps.

He knew them.

He knew them _too_ well.

It was maddening to know he’d never make it to his feet on time to look like he was working but he had to _try_. So on his feet, cleaning, he didn’t know what, the place was always spotless, and smiling.

Because you _had_ to smile. If you were _frowning_ than you were _asking_ for it. And if you were crying?

He _really_ didn’t like what happens if you were caught crying.

And the footsteps stop in the hall, _just_ outside the door and he doesn’t dare look up because he knows he’d been too slow, that he’d jerked to his feet to fast to look natural, that those footsteps _knew_ he hadn’t been cleaning.

So it didn’t surprise him when the table flipped over. The rant was starting. It never made sense, it really never did. As small as he could make himself, less of a target, he listened intently.

Because it was _always_ worse if you weren’t _listening_.

And for one, horrifyingly slow moment he thought it could almost be okay.

Because the rant was winding down, but he’d only gained a few new bruises from things thrown at him and he really didn’t want to work tonight too sore to do it right.

And he _really_ didn’t want to go to work after being in the _small space_.

Maybe the slight hope he dared himself to feel had been noticed because there was that _specific_ rage and Isaac knew what was coming before it came and even though it always made it worse he just _could not_ resist trying to run before feeling that horrible kick send him sprawling to the ground.

His father glared like it was all his fault this was happening and Isaac believed it too for that moment before the foot came smashing back down with a vengeance.

It didn’t matter. He’d wake up in the small space.

Something wet taunted his eyes.

He _hated_ the small space.

 


End file.
